


The Wolf Prince

by orphan_account



Category: teen wolf - Fandom
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Fusion, Alternate Universe - Medieval, Alternate Universe - Royalty, Angst, Crack, Crangst, M/M, Movie Fusion
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-08-15
Updated: 2012-08-23
Packaged: 2017-11-12 05:13:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 5,541
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/487091
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Long before they met, Derek and Genim were destined to be wedded. However, anyone could see the only point on which they didn’t disagree was that the very thought of summertime was dreaded.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. This Is Not My Idea...

**Author's Note:**

> A Swan Princess/Teen Wolf crossover. Don't even doubt it.

Once upon a time there was a good king named William Stilinski who ruled a large and mighty kingdom. And yet, he was sad, for he was growing old and he had no child to inherit the throne. Then, happily, a son was born—a prince. And he was given the name Genim. 

Kings and queens came from all around to offer gifts for the child. Among them was the regent, Peter, and his nephew Prince Derek. It was then that William and Peter happened upon the same idea—Derek and Genim would be brought together each summer in hopes that they would fall in love and join their kingdoms forever. But unknown to all was another plan. 

That of the evil enchanter, Gerard Argent. Genim’s birth was of little concern to him for he was preparing to take King William’s kingdom, by means of the forbidden arts. On the eve of his assault, William attacked and Gerard’s powers were plunged into darkness. Gerard was killed in the battle, and the enchanter’s family was banished. 

Many feared King William had been too kind with his sentence. But in time, the Argents’ threat was forgotten and all hopes turned to that not-too-distant summer when Derek and Genim would meet… 

*** 

Chamberlain Finstock pulled away from the spyglass, cackling to himself in delight. “They’re here!” he cried, laughing, clambering down from the roof onto the tower parapet. He watched the procession turn the forest path, banners of the Hale Family crest fluttering in the wind. He watched Princess Laura, gesture to the guards behind them. Young Prince Derek, no more than ten years old, sat on a squat pony, glaring between its ears sullenly. 

Finstock grabbed a trumpet from the nearest guard, blowing on it furiously then glaring as it refused to make a sound. He tried again, another guard discretely blowing at the same time to trick the Chamberlain into thinking he’d been successful. 

Laura and Derek turned into the castle courtyard, the armoured guard staying behind in the forest clearing. Laura gave a grand bow as they came to a stop. “Dear King William,” she greeted. “Lovely to see you again.” 

“Princess Laura,” he returned, bowing. 

Laura turned her attention to the boy hiding behind the King’s trouser leg. “And who might this be?” She asked, in that condescending voice one used when talking to a child. “Young Prince Genim, no doubt!” she said, winking at the King. 

“I prefer Stiles,” the boy mumbled, looking down at his feet. 

“Welcome to our kingdom, Princess Laura. And to you, Prince Derek.” 

Derek looked up at Laura with an unhappy frown. She gave him an expectant look and nodded confirmation. Derek turned towards the king and younger prince, taking a few steps and shooting unhappy, pleading looks back at his sister. 

“Go on, Genim,” King William said, using a hand to push at the young boy’s shoulders. The six-year-old child pouted and turned his face back into his father’s trousers. “Son, go on,” the king said sweetly. 

“Father!” the prince whispered, annoyed. 

“Stiles!” the King hissed impatiently. 

The two young princes met in the middle, both dragging their feet in reluctance. As soon as they stood before each other, Stiles dropped his eyes and started scuffing his feet. “Hello, Prince Derek. I’m very pleased to meet you.” 

Derek bared his teeth in a smile and bowed deeply. “Nice to meet you too, Prince Genim.” When he lifted his head, the younger boy had run back to hide behind his father. 

“Uh-uh,” King William said quietly. He turned the boy around with the collar of his tunic and pushed him back towards the now-scowling Derek. He shuffled his feet unhappily and offered his hand forward. Derek took it, wrinkling his face up as he turned to look back at Laura pleadingly. 

She glared at him and nodded forcefully. 

Taking a deep breath, Derek darted down and pecked a kiss on the boy’s hand before stumbling back and wiping his lips with the back of his hand. _I can’t believe I’m stick with him all summer! I’ll bet he doesn’t wrestle, hunt or box!_ Derek thought unhappily, crossing his arms and scowling. _What a total bummer._

“If I get lucky I’ll get chickenpox,” Prince Genim mumbled under his breath. He turned to go back to his dad, but King William was flicking his hands in an impatient gesture. Derek glanced back at Laura, but she was frowning sternly and pointing at the young prince resolutely. 

Derek sighed and turned back to face the boy. 

“So happy you could come,” he said, so polite it was clearly insincere. 

“So happy to be here,” Derek replied through gritted teeth. He turned away. “This is not my idea of fun,” he said, trudging back to his pony. 

The rest of that summer was spent in a chase around the castle, attacking Stiles with a wooden sword or being attacked in return. King William and Laura supervised—laughing to themselves more often than not. 

*** 

“Good heavens, Stiles!” King William said, yelling up to the open balcony where the eleven-year-old prince stood, arms crossed over his child. “Don’t dawdle. We can’t keep Derek waiting!” 

Stiles sighed heavily and turned around, glaring down at his father and the servants packing things up into their carriage. “I haven’t packed, or combed my hair…and father, I get sea-sick!” 

// 

Laura opened the door to her brother’s room. “They soon will be arriving,” she announced. She stopped, scowling when she spotted what he was doing. Derek loosed another arrow, piercing a very badly drawn picture labelled ‘Genim’. “Is that the respect you’re showing?” She asked, offended. 

“If you make me kiss his hand again, I swear I’m going to be sick.” 

// 

King William descended the gangplank, clasping Laura’s hands. “One day Prince Derek will be his intended,” he said, assured. 

“Splendid,” Laura agreed. 

Neither of them took any notice of Stiles standing by a cart with his manservant, Scott. The servant nudged the prince with his elbow and stole one of the tomatoes off the cart, using a slingshot to smash it near Derek. The prince, now covered in red pulp, turned to glare at them furiously. 

That summertime ended with them both in casts, bruised and scraped. “This isn’t my idea of fun,” Derek pouted, watching the King and Prince ride away. As soon as they were out of sight, Peter turned around and started scolding him furiously. 

*** 

Sixteen-year-old Derek scowled at his uncle, “He tried to talk me into playing dress-ups!” 

Peter, the acting regent, raised his eyebrow. “He’s twelve years old, Derek. You made him do the same thing four years ago.” 

“He’s always flirting with the castle guards!” Derek grumbled, throwing himself into his seat. 

Peter laughed to himself. “I think you really rather like him, Derek.” 

“I’d like him better if he’d lose at cards,” the prince muttered under his breath. 

// 

“Four sevens and a ten,” Derek announced, placing his cards down on the table and giving the boy an imperious look. 

Stiles screwed his face up in confusion, and then put his cards down as well. “I think I’ve won again,” he said, unsure. 

Derek stood up, staring at the cards in disbelief. Four aces and a two! “Every time!” he cursed, sinking back into his seat. 

“This is my idea of fun,” Stiles said, grinning. 

“This isn’t my idea of it,” Derek said, crossing his arms and scowling. 

*** 

The next year, they spent most of the summer touring through-out Derek’s kingdom in an open carriage. Stiles kept turning around in his seat to wave at people as they passed, hand blurring as he moved it so fast. 

Pulling a face, Derek leaned over to hold two fingers above the younger prince’s head. He hurried to sit back in his seat, whistling innocently, when Stiles turned around to glare at him. 

“We need a royal wedding,” a maid crooned from the crowd. 

“I’d love to be invited,” another added eagerly. 

Derek scowled harder, wishing the traffic would just move on already. Stiles was half-leaning out of the carriage, shaking hands with a group of merchants and laughing loudly. 

“At least we’ll get a holiday,” a farmer said from beside the women. 

“And with some luck, their marriage may result in lower taxes,” another said, grinning. 

// 

As Stiles ascended to the ship, he turned around to wave at the crowd of people that had come to see him off. Derek and Laura were sat in a carriage at the end of the cleared pathway, the surly prince scowling at the air itself that had offended him so potently. 

At the top, he turned around one last time and spluttered as a projectile of red pulp hit him in the face. He turned his glare to Derek who was tossing aside a slingshot with a smug grin. 

*** 

_To Genim,  
For as long as I remember, we’ve been told we’d someday wed.  
\- Derek _

_~_

_Derek,  
That’s why we’re stuck together every June until September, jerk.  
Also, I don’t like you. Don’t write to me.  
\- **STILES** _

_~_

_GENIM,  
I’m the one that has to put up with their pushing and annoying hints.  
\- Derek  
P.S. – Laura makes me write to you. I don’t have to if you **stop writing back.** _

_~_

_Jerkface,  
You’re not the only one. I’ve got  bruises with their fingerprints, Derek.  
Actual bruises.  
\- Stiles _

_~_

_Stiles,  
I could do much better for myself, I’m sure.  
\- Derek _

_~_

_Derek,  
You’re such a jerk.  
\- His royal highness, Prince Genim Stilinski of Beaconhill. _

Stiles stumbled into his own ballroom, turning around to glare at his father and Scott as they pulled the door closed firmly. He felt the familiar weight of Prince Derek’s glare on his back and turned around to meet it with his own. When he caught sight of Derek standing by the other door, his knees went a little week. 

Derek couldn’t possibly always have been this good looking, right? It had to be his hormones. He was sixteen now, all he thought about was… 

He flushed bright red as Derek began to smile, dimples appearing beneath stubble-covered cheeks. “Look at you, Genim,” he whispered hoarsely. “You’re all grown up now.” 

“So happy you could come,” Stiles replied, bowing deeply. When he looked up, Derek was matching his move. 

“Glad to be here,” Derek replied breathlessly. Slowly, he reached to take up Stiles’ hands and pressed a gentle kiss to his knuckles. “Maybe this could work.” 

Laura burst in then with Regent Peter and King William. “I told you it was a good idea!” she exclaimed, delighted. 

“It was a charming and romantic notion,” William agreed. 

“This was _my_ idea of how to make them fall in love,” Peter said firmly. He prodded Derek in the back, forcing him to lead Derek out through another door into a teeming ballroom. 

They were alone on the dance floor, waltzing. Stiles was babbling on about…something. (It was inevitable, he was always talking.) But he couldn’t concentrate on what he was saying. He couldn’t look away from Derek’s face, staring into Derek’s eyes (he always thought they were green, but they were actually pale grey with a starburst of brown around the pupil) but getting thoroughly distracted by his smile. 

His breath caught when Derek began to lean closer, nearly choking when their lips touched. They pulled back after a few moments (and a brief flick of tongue—Stiles’ dad was _right there, come on!_ ). 

Stiles turned grinning back to their guardians. “Arrange the marriage!” 


	2. What Else Is There?

Derek looked around the ballroom at all the cheering people. The music started up again in jaunty celebration. His eyes slid past Stiles, who was grinning around the room, to find Laura by the door. She was crying in delight, clapping and hugging a laughing Peter. When he looked back at Stiles, he was still grinning, now at Scott in the corner. 

“But wait,” he said hesitantly. 

The room fell silent with the crash of a dropped tray. 

Stiles turned back to him, his face wrinkled in confusion. “What?” He asked. “You…you’re all I ever wanted. You’re beautiful!” 

Derek nearly flinched. “Thank you,” he said quietly. He paused, giving the teen a serious look. “But what else?” 

“What else?” Stiles asked in disbelief. 

Derek sighed, his stomach sinking with disappointment. “Is beauty all that matters to you, Stiles?” 

Peter cleared his throat and gave him a stern, disapproving look. Derek glared back at him stonily and returned his attention to the flabbergasted prince. 

“Genim,” King William said gently. “What else?” 

Stiles stammered as he looked between their guardians and Derek. He kept his gaze on the other Prince, agitated. “What else is there?” 

Lord Harris made a loud, obnoxious buzzing noise to indicate Stiles’ mistake. Stiles looked back at his father in a panic, but the king just gave a weary sigh. Laura looked mortified and Peter just frowned at Derek unhappily. 

The older prince sighed and placed his hand on Stiles’ shoulder. “Not yet, Stiles,” he said. “When you’re old enough to answer that question, then we can.” 

He left the ballroom, leaving unhappy silence in his wake. 

*** 

The rest of the summer passed, much the same as last year except for the new-found strain between the two princes. Derek endured many lectures from Laura about his irresponsibility, but Peter remained blessedly silent on the matter. 

“I just don’t understand!” Laura cried out one evening. “What was it you wanted him to say?” 

“He said all he ever wanted was a looker, Laura,” Derek said evenly. 

“What?” She barked in disbelief. “You need to know that he loves you, _for you_? Derek, you’re not that romantic.” 

“Of course not,” he replied quietly. He let the silence drag on for a few moments, then he looked at her squarely. “Why do you think this is a good idea, Laura?” 

She seemed stunned by his question. “Derek, you know all this. A royal marriage between Beaconhill and our kingdom will be the perfect way for the people and the courts to accept the joining of our kingdoms that we’ve been planning for a century.” 

“You could have married him,” Peter offered, smiling privately at his nephew. “You’re more beautiful than Derek.” 

“Inprudent,” she dismissed. “I’m much older than him, the courts would know the reasons behind the marriage. Your ages are much closer together, a romance is far more, if not possible, then at least believable. And my proclivities aren’t aimed towards his gender.” She looked between them in disbelief. “We’ve been planning this since Prince Genim was _born_ , why are the two of you only questioning it now?” 

“We have been planning this for years, Laura,” Peter agreed. “Even before we knew whether their own, to use your word, _proclivites_ would turn out to our expectations.” 

“As well—we knew that if we raised them together, they would at least learn to get along. Hopefully well enough to let some sort of love foster after their marriage.” 

“Yes,” Derek agreed quietly, coming back around to his point. “This are all sensible and fitting ideas. And _Stiles didn’t say any one of them_.” He gave his sister a pointed look, and she sunk into the nearby chair with a considering frown. “I didn’t say ‘never’, Laura. I said we would have to wait.” 

“Prince Genim is very young,” Peter agreed. “Give him time to learn and accept the implications and his responsibilities. King William is no less thrilled than us about the further delay.” He stretched and stood. “Goodnight, your highnesses. Remember to wake up early for the hunt tomorrow.” 

They murmured passing sentiments and settled in by the fire. 

Laura nudged her younger brother with her elbow and raised her eyebrows. “Are you telling me you don’t care _even a little_ that he doesn’t love you for who you are?” 

He smiled. “I don’t need to worry about that.” 

*** 

Stiles grumbled unhappily and burrowed his face into Derek’s neck. “Why won’t you marry me?” He mumbled. “Dad’s really disappointed in me.” 

Derek glanced down at the prince sprawled languidly on his chest. He sighed and looked back out at the lake. “Genim,” he said, “we’ve already spoken about this.” 

Stiles huffed in annoyance, hot breath gusting across Derek’s neck. “What else, Derek? I never had anything else to look forward to than a beautiful partner.” 

Derek sighed, frowning. “That’s what I mean, Stiles. When you can answer me properly, then you’ll be ready.” 

Stiles lifted his head and gave him a pained look. “Derek, the summer’s almost over. If you don’t come around before you leave, we’ll have to wait another year.” 

The visiting prince sighed and leaned down to press a gentle kiss to the pouting lips. “Then we wait until then.” He relaxed back, head resting against his folded up jacket. Stiles whined unhappily and rested his head back in the hollow of his collarbone. “We’re meant to be, Genim. There’s never been anyone else for me and there never will be. Just you—far longer than forever.” 

Stiles huffed unhappily and Derek nuzzled the top of his head affectionately. Stiles sat up, pouting at him. “Come on, Chamberlain will be back soon. Can’t have him finding out we’re out here doing exactly what he’s supposed to be chaperoning us to prevent.” 

Derek sighed and sat up, pulling the green jacket over his loose white shirt. 

*** 

Laura turned once they reached the carriage, giving King William a tired smile. “We tried, sire. No one can say we didn’t try.” 

“Perhaps next year,” the king agreed, sighing heavily. He looked aside to his sulking son, prodding him firmly. “Say goodbye, Genim.” 

“Goodbye,” Stiles muttered sullenly. 

“Goodbye…?” His father prompted, impatient. 

The youngest Prince sighed and lifted his eyes to meet Derek’s. The Hale prince was looming by the open carriage door, his expression dark but otherwise unreadable. “Goodbye, Prince Derek.” 

He was jolted forward when Laura elbowed him harshly in the side. He unfolded his arms and sighed heavily. “Goodbye, Genim.” 

Stiles just dropped his eyes to the cobbled ground, crossing his own arms over his chest. Derek sighed unhappily and slid into the carriage. Laura and Peter followed after and the footman closed the door. He watched the carriage until it disappeared around the bend, then followed his silent father back into the castle. 

*** 

Derek frowned as the carriage jolted to a hault, the driver murmuring a ‘whoa’ to the horses. One whinnied quietly and Derek frowned as his uncle opened the door to look out. He stiffened and Derek opened the other door, looking out to see their driver pointing towards the end of the road. 

“Stay inside,” Peter commanded, hand out to stop Laura as she tried to look out as well. 

Derek scowled in confusion at the figure only feet away from the first horse’s nose. It was a woman, dark blond hair curled and tucked away beneath a dark hood. Her cloak billowed in the wind and a large lizard curled around her feet, tail wrapped around her leg. 

She smiled, cruelty and madness in the curl of her lips. “Go get ‘em, boy.” 

The lizard leapt up and the driver screamed. 


	3. It's Not What It Seems

“Think!” Lord Harris snapped, watching Stiles impatiently. “You must see something other than Prince Derek’s _beauty_.” 

“Of course I do,” he mumbled, avoiding his tutor’s eyes. “I just don’t know what else I was supposed to say. The only other reasons I’ve got are everyone else’s reasons. That’s all I have for me alone.” 

Deaton gave him an unimpressed look. “There are many great reasons why this marriage is advantageous, Prince Genim. Derek is as aware of them as you are. Yet when you were asked why you wanted to marry him, you could only come up with such nonsense as to his appearance. And furthermore, if—” 

The door exploded inwards, and a figure stumbled in, crying for help. Stiles jumped down the stairs, running over and staring agape at the regent Peter slumping slowly to the ground. He knelt beside him, horrified, hands slicking with blood as he held up the royal. 

His neck was torn open, and he gurgled soundlessly looking up at Stiles with an edge of desperation. Then he slumped, eyes glassy and chest still. “Derek…” he breathed. 

“Sir!” Lord Harris barked impatiently. “Your father will be on his way to investigate…” 

Stiles ignored him, racing to the blood-soaked horse Peter had ridden and ripping the reins from a startled knight. He kicked it into a gallop and raced through the forest. They couldn’t have gone too far in the carriage, not if the regent had still been alive in time to get to the castle. 

He could only hear his racing pulse and the thump of hooves against the dirt-packed ground. Finally he came upon blood-soaked carnage, the royal guard slaughtered around the clearing. The carriage was upturned and splintered but Stiles still looked in—as if Derek had been protected enough to still be inside. 

“Derek!” he yelled, his voice echoing back to him. He shouted again, and then froze when he heard heavy breathing. Turning around, he saw Laura propped against a boulder, clutching a sword and missing the lower half of her body. “Laura,” he breathed in disbelief, running over to kneel beside her. “What happened?” 

“Genim,” Laura breathed, clutching at his hands when he took hers. “I—” 

“Who did this?” Stiles asked. Who would do this? 

“They came so quickly,” she said, breathing laboured. “A strange animal…man and beast…” She grunted in pain, slumping back against the ground. 

“Where is Derek?” Stiles asked. 

“Listen to me, Genim,” she said vehemently, meeting his eyes in a fierce gaze. “It’s not what it seems. It’s not what it seems!” 

“What’s not?” the prince asked. He looked around wildly. “Where is Derek?” 

“Derek is…” She took a deep, shuddering breath. “Derek is…” Then she grew impossibly still. 

Stiles stared at her lifeless form for a few moments longer then backed away, shouting the missing prince’s name. His father’s knights found him hours later, stumbling through the undergrowth and screaming Derek’s name. 

*** 

Deeper into the forest, through tangled undergrowth and a maze of thorned brambles there was a cliff. A waterfall cascaded down the cliff face, flowing from a lake. Beside the lake stood a dilapidated castle that had previously been abandoned for hundreds of years. 

Derek was dragged, snarling, through an archway by the collar around his neck. At least the creature’s venom had worn off and he could scramble to his feet instead of being dragged through the dirt. The woman tossed his chain away and he backed away from her, growling. 

She laughed and went to touch him but he snapped his teeth at her. She cackled and grabbed the edge of the muzzle trapping his jaw. She forced his head down, burying his jowls into the water of the lake. “Drink the water you filthy mutt,” she snapped. 

He did so reluctantly, whining in pain as his body began to change. Knees snapped around to face the other way, paws stretching into fingers and toes, the very shape of his skull drawing back into itself. 

Horrified, he stared up at the woman because _he had been a wolf._ She’s turned him into an animal! He got to his feet, retaining what dignity he could. 

She grinned. “I’m Kate. Kate Argent,” she said. Bowing, she looked up at him with a sly grin. “Pleased to meet you.” 

“Get away from me,” he snapped furiously. 

She chuckled. “Now, now, Derek. This sort of thing doesn’t give me any pleasure.” She paused, and then her lips turned up into a smirk. “Well, maybe a little.” Derek turned away from her, glaring at the lake. “Listen, what I really want is your future kingdom.” 

“Take it then!” he said vehemently, turning around to glare at him. “You clearly have enough power!” 

“No, my father made that mistake. I’m not going to do the same thing.” She shrugged, giving him a smile. “Once you steal something, you spend your whole life fighting to keep it.” With a wave of her hand, he felt his knees buckling with a jolt of burning pain. He was down on one knee and he looked up with furious eyes as she snatched up his hand. “But if I marry the only heir to the throne…” She gave a brilliant smile. “We’ll rule the kingdom together, legally. King and Queen.” 

“Never,” he growled, ripping his hand away. It seemed to snap the woman’s control and he got to his feet, racing towards the archway. 

She laughed, turning to watch him. “Where are you going?” He ignored her, still going. “As soon as the moonlight leaves the lake, you’ll turn back into a wolf.” He came to a stop, breath catching. “No matter where you are,” she said, heels tapping on the stone as she came after him. 

He turned to her, growling. “Release me from the spell!” 

She laughed, delighted. Hooking her sharp nails into his neck, she dragged him back over to the lake and forced him to his knees by the surface. As his reflection loomed, his breaths tuck in his throat. His face was raised in a mock of the lupine shape, jaw swollen with sharp fangs. The hair beside his face was coarse and long, eyes glowing red. Even as he watched, his face slid back into its human visage. 

He scrambled away from the woman, staring at her in fear. “What have you done to me?” 

She chuckled. “Don’t let this little curse get you down, Derek. By day, you’ll be a wolf—by night, a were. Not completely human, but close enough.” Her grin showed too much teeth. “As soon as the moon comes up, you must drink from the lake. You’ll become a were. It has to be from the lake, of course—not just any water.” 

“Undo it!” he shouted, grabbing onto her with clawed hands. 

She laughed and he felt his skin burning until he released the grip. “It’s not that kind of spell, lovely.” She grinned again, shoving his hands away. He curled them into his chest, watching the claws recede. “It’s a were curse, with specific parameters. Nothing can change them, even if you kill me.” 

“How do I break it?” He growled. 

She laughed. “Wolves mate for life, Derek. All you need to do is choose a mate and claim them publically.” She smirked, cruel. “Shouldn’t be hard—but, wait. You’ve already chosen a partner haven’t you? Your precious little Genim.” 

Derek snarled, lunging towards her only to slam into an invisible barrier. 

She cackled, turning to walk away. “Oh, well. Maybe he won’t believe you’re dead. Maybe he’ll be perfectly willing to let you mate him.” She stopped at the archway and turned to grin at him. “Better hope he doesn’t find another to marry before you can get him here.” 

Then she was walking away and, even as Derek chased after her, a vine hung with bulbous purple flowers began to grow up the archway. He recoiled as he reached them, his skin burnt and he was backing away whimpering. 

He titled his head back and howled up at the moon. 


	4. Practice, Practice, Practice

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A brief Coach-Finstock-Is-Still-Ridiculous Interlude for you...

“The musicians are not happy,” Chamberlain Finstock pointed out. 

Stiles frowned. “I know,” he said reluctantly. “But I have to practice. You’re the one who picked the court band.” 

“Oh, no complaints here!” Finstock said brightly. “I think it’s going to be loads of fun.” 

Stiles sighed as he adjusted the coloured blindfold over his eyes. “The Great Animal isn’t going to go down without a fight.” 

The chamberlain stared at him in uncomprehension for a few moments. “You can’t possibly think he’s still alive,” he said. “Prince Genim, it’s nearly been a whole year.” 

“When I find the Great Animal, I’ll find Derek,” Stiles said stubbornly, pointing his finger in the direction of the man’s voice. 

“Oh, Biles. You’ve looked everywhere.” The chamberlain gave him a pitying look. “He’s not coming back.” There were soft footsteps as Finstock began to walk away. “The whole kingdom knows that.” 

“The whole kingdom is wrong,” Stiles answered stubbornly, turning to follow the movements of the footsteps. “Derek is alive, and I’m going to find him.” He completed the turn and called, “ready, Scott?” 

There was a loud thwack – probably the mentally unbalanced chamberlain slapping the prince’s manservant on the back of the head. “No peeking,” he said forcefully. “Animals? Assemble!” 

“Finstock, I must object!” the familiar voice of the cellist called. “We are musicians!” 

“The servants had the day off,” Finstock replied, bored. “We had to use someone and you weren’t doing anything.” 

“We were rehearsing!” another protested. 

“You were sitting around the ballroom tooting your horns. Get in a line!” 

“But I’m a musician!” the cellist shouted. “Not a boar!” 

“Could’ve fooled me,” Finstock muttered. 

Stiles intervened before the band left in protest. “Come on guys,” he said. Taking an arrow from the standing quiver and firing it at his own foot. There was the familiar sound of the blunted end hitting his foot and he tucked it back in the quiver. “They’re harmless.” 

“We are a _band_ ,” another man grumbled. “Not a band of animals!” 

“This masquerade is more than I can _bear_ ,” one of the men said. “See what I did there? Y’know, _bear_. ‘cause you’re dressed up like a bear.” 

“There goes my reputation,” the cellist muttered among the twang of mask strings falling into place. “This is humiliating.” 

“Yeah,” the joker continued. “You’ve really got the _lion’s share._ ” 

“I’m a boar,” the cellist replied sternly. 

“Yes you are,” Finstock muttered. He cleared his throat. “Down on all fours and growl ferociously.” There was a dull silence. “Liven it up a little!” he shrieked. “I want you to strike fear into my heart.” 

There was a loud, nearly realistic roaring that had Finstock stumbling back into Scott. 

“Damnit, not _you_ , Greenberg! You’re a _rabbit_!” Grumbling broke out among the band and Finstock began yelling towards the blindfolded teens. “Archers?” Stiles felt down to pick up another arrow. “Ready?” He tapped it against the quiver and straightened. “Set…” He notched the arrow and closed his eyes, taking a deep breath. _This is for you, Derek._ “Go!” 

The blindfold slid away from his eyes and he opened them, locking on to the first animal he spotted. He loosed an arrow, not even checking to see whether it hit the man dressed like a bear before he was grabbing another one from the quiver. 

Scott ran off, chasing after Greenberg with a handful of arrows no doubt, but Stiles made sure his attention didn’t follow them. It was hard, keeping his focus from drifting—trying to stay locked on to the animal figures when it wanted to take in everything at once. Finstock taunting the musicians back onto the field, Scott chasing Greeberg into the forest with a taut bowstring, the courtiers up on the raised courtyard drinking afternoon tea and no doubt complaining about his constant practice disrupting their peace and quiet. 

“Why do we have to do this?” A musician whined, giving away his position behind the arch. 

“Because if we’d refused he would have fired us,” the cellist grumbled. 

Stiles fired a few arrows in their direction, the cries of protest indicating they had hit their mark. His eye caught sight of Greenberg racing across the field, away from a persuant Scott, and loosed off an arrow as the costumed rabbit dove for the cover of a bush. 

“Time!” Chamberlain Finstock bellowed. Grinning sadistically, he called the musicians in for couting, tallying up the scores as he stepped over or around their slumping bodies. 

Stiles tuned out his muttering, kneeling down beside the particularly marked duck-man. “Sorry,” he said, handing the musician a handkerchief. “Why don’t you take a couple of days off.” 

“Two-hundred and ninety two!” Finstock announced loudly. “And none for you, Scott. I’m not even surprised.” He strode towards the end. “And last, but not least, okay, maybe the least. Damnit, Greenberg. For one hundred points each, the elusive white rabbit!” He gasped in shock and dropped his quill when he saw the three blue marks on the rabbit costume. 

“I believe that’s three hundred, Finstock,” Scott said, grinning. 

“Good shooting, Scott,” Stiles said, stepping up to the rabbit. 

“Well? Write it down,” Scott said gleefully, grabbing the quill and making thick marks on Finstock’s parchment before the chamberlain yanked it away possessively. “Three hundred to two-ninenty-two.” 

“Hold on a moment,” Stiles said, glaring at Greenberg’s shifty expression. He gestured for the rabbit-man to turn around, which he did reluctantly, and used the end of his bow to lift up the fluffy tail and reveal his last mark. “Sorry, Scott,” he said sheepishly. 

The manservant chuckled. “It’s okay, Stiles.” 

“You’ve become a great marksman over the past year, Prince Genim. I can’t believe I once thought _Scott_ was better than you,” Finstock said, coming up between them. “But it takes more than good aim. It takes courage!” He gave the manservant a vicious grin. “That’s why I suggest a round of Catch-And-Fire.” 

“Catch-And-Fire?” Scott stuttered, reaching for the oxygen pump from his pocket. 


End file.
